


Old Mistakes Be Forgotten

by Catchclaw



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Trailer, First Kiss, Last Night on Earth, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 08:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18332057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: That he knocks on your door doesn’t surprise you. That he comes in without a word does.





	Old Mistakes Be Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crowgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/gifts).



> Inspired by [THAT HANDSHAKE](https://biron-man.tumblr.com/post/183894704717/one-time-steve-left-when-tony-needed-him-and-the). My god.

That he knocks on your door doesn’t surprise you. That he comes in without a word does.

He’s wearing gray, the same color as the world, and yet he smells like clean air and cotton, like blue skies, like the best of all possible worlds.

You only know this because he comes close, steps in without hesitation. His eyes never drift from your face.

 _I’m sorry_ , he says. _God, Tony. You don’t know how much._

But you do. Of course you do; the weight of his guilt is your equal and opposite. You know because you feel it, too.

 _Well_ , you say, tone just above a whisper. _We’re together now: you, me, everybody. Old mistakes be forgotten, right?_

He smiles, and it’s a shadow of the radiant thing you remember, the one that haunted your dreams. You can’t stop staring. He says: _I don’t think that’s how it goes_.

_No?_

_No_.

You feel his mouth beneath your fingers before you realize that you’ve reached, hear the shocked catch of his breath even above the tin-pan pounding of your own idiot heart and then it’s done already, isn’t it? You’re touching him in this small, private way. He’s letting you. Why in the world would you stop?

His lips are warm and wide and soft, god, so fucking soft that you press in a little harder, you have to, just to see if there’s a place where he stops yielding and pushes you out, shoves you back. He could do it now if he wanted to, both mitts sitting loosely at your hips, and if you weren’t so swept away by the promise of heat, of his tongue on the tips of your fingers, his teeth, you’d be floored by that, how casually he’s touching you. As if he has every right.

 _We’re going to die tomorrow_ , you say, steady. _Me, you, the whole team. You get that, don’t you?_

He catches your wrist and lifts your hand back just enough so he can make words. _That’s the plan, though, isn’t it? We die and everybody else gets to live._

You touch his mouth again, bolder, and this time he keeps hold of your wrist. He doesn’t let you run away when his lips close against your fingers, when you push them in and find the living dragon that is his tongue.

 _Oh, god_. Despair there in your own voice, and something else, too: desire that feels like a relief. _Steve, you should go, I should--_

But then he closes his mouth and traps you between his teeth, pinned by his dark cowled eyes, by the crush of his grip on your wrist. He shakes his head: _No. No_.

He’s cradling your back now, balancing your weight on one great, gentle paw and this is everything you’ve wanted, nothing like it, the opportunity you were sure that you’d lost.

 _Steve_ , you say again, have to. Before today, the end of the world, how long had it been since you’d said that? Too long. Too.

It’s not that you’ve always loved him. You haven’t. There were long, colorful stretches where you hated and/or resented his star-spangled ass, true. But they’re in the rearview now, long and fucking gone, and in the sharp relief between missing him desperately and wanting to punch him there was this weird kind of balance in love.

He’s licking the tips of your fingers now, soft, little sucks. His blunt nails are biting into your shirt. And he’s looking at you with something like wonder, like you’re some mystical creature he’s read about and even now just can’t quite believe.

 _You should kiss me_ , you say. Always easier to give orders than get them.

He smiles around your fingers and tugs your hand away, tugs it up to hang around the curve of his neck. _I should, huh?_

 _Think of it this way_ , you say. _Tonight’s probably your last goddamn chance_.

But what if, you think as his mouth covers yours, as his hands slip down to your ass, what if we don’t die, though? Can I live with this, just having tonight? Can I live with that the rest of my life?

He’s a big kisser, a greedy one, and in two steps he has you flat on your back goldfishing for air before he swoops in and steals it right back.

 _Tony_ , he says in your ear, a sound of such warm, perfect joy. _Oh, god, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you_.

But you do. Of course you do. You know because you feel it, too.


End file.
